Harry Potter and the Evans Mysteries
by Terra King
Summary: Post Deathly Hallows. AU. Harry has sacrificed himself to save the world and resurrect those who did not deserve to die. But...how long can both worlds be safe without him? Is it now time for his family and friends to pick up his mantle and shine? Or is his return from the dead truly mandatory... Please give this a chance. Thanks! A zillion thanks! Chapter 4 Uploaded.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note I:

Okay, before I start, I have some explanations to make:

1. I do not own the fabulously magical Harry Potter and never would.

2. I am intending to have this story a blend of the books and the movies.

3. This is set in an alternate universe of Deathly Hallows, where Remus and Tonks did not marry and are just good friends (a thousand apologies Remus/Tonks fans, but...I have other plans for Remus). In this version, Harry had sacrificed himself to save the world from Voldemort, and through this - by some miracle that remains to be explained later (if I get enough encouraging reviews, that is) - all those good witches and wizards who had lost their lives to the two wizarding wars were brought back to life. Guess this gives you all pretty much a rough idea as to who are going to show up, right?

4. Whether or not I turn this into a full story would depend entirely on the number and kinds of reviews I get. So please help me make a choice. Thanks!

* * *

The sky was a sultry, clear blue. Not too intense, not too light. There were no clouds at all. The sun shone golden and warm, neither too strong nor too weak, but at the center of two extremes; calm, cool breezes seemed omnipresent. Birds fluttered restlessly from branch to branch, chipping merrily. Had it not been for the occasion one might even had said that it was a beautiful day.

Nobody paid any attention to the weather at all; their primary focus was on the coffin in which the Boy Who Lived – no, the Man Who Had Saved Them All – lay. Lily watched everyone else in silence; the green eyes that had once sparkled like stars and danced with the vivacity of her witty nature were now as cold and as lifeless as emeralds, watching everything yet seeing nothing. James and Sirius were greeting the guests, who had already started to arrive. Remus was talking to the Wiccan Priest who would perform the ceremony. _Typical Remus,_ she thought wryly, almost smiling. _Forever particular. Forever caring about every teeny weeny itsy bitsy detail to make sure that all is perfect._

Albus Dumbledore, flanked by his siblings, stood at a distance. In his immaculate, embroidered night-black robes, it looked like he was trying to fade into the shadows. Or perhaps…he was trying to retreat into his own private world full of old and happy memories, a world where a very special boy with his mother's eyes, his father's hair, and a scar shaped like a bolt of lightning on his forehead was still alive, well and…_happy._ The grief-deepened lines on his face and the weariness in his eyes made him seem far older than his one-hundred-and-fifteen-years. Sensing his intense turmoil, Ariana closed her dainty white hand on his weathered old one, hoping to offer what comfort she could, and inwardly shuddered to find how cold her oldest brother's hand was in stark contrast to her warm one. Even Aberforth, whose face retained its usual grumpy expression, patted him (if somewhat roughly) on the back, as if he was also completely taken aback from the state that the brother he had almost hated for most of his life was currently in.

Unlike her husband, Lily's feelings towards the Headmaster were still confused. The only thing she was sure was that the bond between them had dissolved irreparably; any love she had for the old wizard had been worn out by everything he had done to her Harry, her precious Harry. Condemning her beloved boy to the guardianship of her bitter, hateful, magic-loathing sister was in itself an unforgivable act, despite the unarguable fact that the magical protection provided by the blood-wards was truly unequalled in the wizarding world. Oh, his intentions might have been noble, and for the greater good, but it was equally true that he had moved each and everyone of them – especially her Harry – like pieces on a game board. He had lost sight of the present for the sake of the future. In fact, secretly, so secretly that she did not tell it even to herself, she wondered if James had been right after all about accusing Dumbledore of being as bad as Voldemort, and that he had as good as killed their Harry; she wondered if her husband had been right to say that their Harry had chosen death to escape from the life that Dumbledore had forced him into: a life where he had barely been truly happy, where he was forced to experience emotional coldness and mental loneliness everyday, and where it seemed like death was the one and only means of freedom from the despair that he lived in.

One would have thought that the mere idea of this dreadful, but not impossible theory would have made Lily Evans Potter scream, or cry, or strike the Headmaster of Hogwarts, or claw his face, or torture him to a slow, excruciatingly painful death.

But Lily did none of the above. None of the above at all.

Despite everything, she did not want Dumbledore dead.

No, not really.

Why?

Because…what was the use?

No matter what anyone did to Dumbledore now, no matter what happened to Dumbledore now, Harry, her…no, their Harry…their beloved Harry…was gone…and he was never, _ever_ coming back. And Lily was not going to waste anymore of her life, her time, or her energy on a foolish old man who had already cost them all so dear, and repaid them so little. All she did was to take back the love that she used to have for the old man, and to exclude him from her heart. She would be glad to see the back of him and would not have cared if she had never seen him again.

It was then that she spotted them.

Ron looked utterly wretched; his face was pale and exhausted, his swollen eyes as red as his hair, his entire demeanour radiated depression in its purest form. Hermione did not look any better: her eyes were overly bright, her face sunken, her stance suggesting as though she might collapse anytime, and she seemed dangerously close to tears.

But Ginny…she was struck when she saw how much Ginny had changed in such a short time. She, along with her husband, had been watching her from the moment she unknowingly became an important and significant member of her son's life. They had thought her a painfully shy and quiet child, one too afraid to speak her mind and her heart, and who had been protected from the harshness of the real world. This had been the petted youngest child of the Weasley family, who since infancy had never been far from her mother's side, whose father could deny her very little, and whose older brothers intensely doted on her in their own individual ways. Her first traumatic year at Hogwarts had been the first real lesson of life she had been forced to learn, and though it had been six years since the disastrous incident with Riddle's diary and Slytherin's monster, she had never really moved on from it. Then, as she bloomed into womanhood and grew to have a young woman's optimism, she had hoped…prayed…with all of her might and her faith that, despite the impossible odds, she could have a long and happy life with the man she loved once he had fulfilled his accursed destiny. But fate and destiny, ever so cruel and merciless when it came to heroes who carried the weight of the world on their very shoulders, destroyed even that one little hope of hers.

What Lily saw now, however, was a girl who had been hammered by unhappiness into a fine maturity. This Ginny looked older than her seventeen years, and was thinner and paler than her brother or her soon-to-be sister-in-law, but a closer inspection would reveal that she had also developed a new spiritual beauty, horned by heartbreak. Lily inwardly drew a breath. This Ginny was a young woman with a powerful regal presence, like a Princess who had lost her Prince but knew that life went on even without her beloved. She had become through grief not only her son's "widow" but a true witch, a true woman in every sense of the word. This was a powerful and sophisticated witch who had learned and embraced hard lessons: that dreams and reality are, at the end of the day, two different things altogether, and not all of reality's stories would end with a "happily ever after"; that all magic had its limitations, and can be powerless when it came to the natural order of things, especially in matters of life and death. This was a confident, strong-willed, and independent young woman whom few, if any at all, could match for grit. She was cool, she was hard.

Yet…Lily could still detect shadows under her eyes…sense suffering in the thin line that her pretty rosebud mouth was now folded into…

When their eyes met – midnight-green locking with black-brown, it was like they had looked into a mirror and saw themselves reflected back: utterly heartbroken by their loss, abandoned by faith and hope, deeply sunk into a black depression that would surely haunt them for the rest of their lives. Instinctively, impulsively, as though she had planned to do it all along, Lily held out her arms. As quick as lightning, Ginny plunged into her embrace and Lily kissed her warmly. They held each other for a moment, scrutinizing each other's faces and everyone who saw them knew, as Ginny's brown dark gaze met Lily's striking green eyes, that they were kindred spirits in every way.

"How could this happen, Mrs. Potter?" Ginny asked, her voice barely above a whisper, the Weasley-brown eyes madly intent as though determined to solve an unbearably painful mystery. "How could he be just taken away like that?"

Those were the very same questions that had been mercilessly torturing her beloved's parents at all times, be it eating, drinking, walking, sleeping or doing nothing at all. Indeed, how could this have happened? How could their Harry be just taken away like this? How could Death take him, him of all people? How could Death take a soul as pure and brave and innocent and true and strong as him away? Sweet Merlin, he had only been eighteen, and had a lifetime ahead of him… "Fate. Destiny. My heart breaks as much as yours does, child, but we have to accept this. We have no other choice but to accept this."

"But why?"

"Child, no one ever knows why one is taken and another spared."

The copper head shook slowly, as if by denying it would make all of this unreal, make it just a nightmare that she would be waking up from anytime now. "But why?"

"Fate and destiny." Lily repeated.

"I don't know how bear it for the rest of my life." Ginny breathed so softly that Lily barely heard her. "To discover that my diary was a monster and a terror who had used me to get to my loved ones felt like torture, but to…to…to…lose Harry is like death itself. I can put on a brave front now, but…but…I don't see how I can keep it up. I don't know how to bear it for the rest of my life, Mrs. Potter."

Despite herself, Lily smiled a genuine, infinitely patient smile that made the younger witch stare at her. "Ginny, you will learn to bear it; there is nothing that anyone can do but bear it. You can rage or you can cry, but in the end, you will learn to bear it. It will be just the same for me, for James, and for all those who knew and loved our Harry."

"You will have to teach me your courage, Mrs. Potter. I need it. I think I need it desperately," Ginny whispered.

Lily shook her head. "Courage is a lesson that only has to be learnt once," she said gently. "You know, you learned at Hogwarts: you are not a girl to be destroyed by betrayal and sorrow, even if the one who has hurt you was your closest, most intimate, and most trusted confidant. You will grieve but you will live, you will come out into the world again. You will love. In time…you may even learn to be happy again."

"I cannot see it," Ginny said desolately.

"It will come."

* * *

The ceremony started soon afterwards. There was only a medium amount of people there, not too many, and yet not too few, as James had cast a spell that effectively ensured that only Harry's most intimate friends and confidants would be there. Having watched his beloved boy from the afterlife more closely than anyone could have ever imagined, he knew that Harry would have definitely wanted it to be this way: better to have only the people who knew personally knew him and truly loved him for the person that he was beneath all the fame and glory, than have a vast, overwhelming crowd of strangers bursting into sobs and making exaggerated thanks to their hero and their saviour. He knew that his boy, for all his life, had only wanted to be seen for the person that he truly was, and he would want the world to remember him not as the Boy Who Lived, nor the Man Who Had Saved Them All, but Harry - just plain, ordinary _Harry._

And by hook or by crook, he would see to that. For everyone's sake. For his boy's sake.

_"That which belongs to fellowship and love._

_That which belongs to the circle, remains with us..."_

While listening to the words of the Priest, Remus was absentmindedly fingering the necklace he wore around his neck - a delicate chain from which hung a wolf pendant, all made entirely of highest-quality goblin-forged silver, and simply delightful to behold. Harry had it specially made for Remus in secret, and had given it to him just before he died, with the assurance that he would always be with him when he wore it. One would have thought that Remus John Lupin's pride would have made him adamantly refuse such an exquisitely _expensive_ gift, but he had not, for he did not have the heart to refuse a boy's deathbed gift, especially since said boy was the cub whom he had failed so utterly and so miserably. He shut his eyes tight, feeling the razor-sharp arrow of guilt jab at his heart again: because he chose to believe that Sirius was the traitor without even making an attempt to investigate all the facts, an innocent man who was the epitome of a true loyal friend was imprisoned for twelve long, wretched, excruciatingly painful years in the Hell called Azkaban. Because of his fears about getting too close to anyone in his condition, and because he chose to follow Dumbledore's orders and decisions blindly, Harry had led a most undeserved life of misery since infancy, with no one to turn to and nothing much to live for, so much so that he finally - dared he acknowledge it? - choose death as it was really the one and only way that he could be free from all the pains and sorrows of this God-forsaken world.

He was, in every sense of the word, a _failure._

He should not have just assumed that Sirius had betrayed them all, and he should have asked Dumbledore to push for a trial.

He should have tried harder to visit Harry during his childhood years, so at least his cub would have had some connection to his parents, and that he would know that there was someone who actually _cared, _someone whom he could turn to for help and comfort.

Yes, he was a total, complete and utter failure.

James had accepted him as a friend and a surrogate brother without question or qualification...and he repaid him by helping to condemn his son to a life of misery, loneliness, and ultimately - _death._

In that sense, he was - at the end of the day - a dirty, dark, and evil soul after all. He had been a monster as bad as Fenrir Greyback. He had been a bad friend and a bad Marauder, no less than Pettigrew had been...

Remus had to bite the inside of his lip _hard_ to stifle the cry that was bursting to erupt like a volcano.

_"Harry, I neither expect your forgiveness nor do I want it, for I know how thoroughly and utterly I have failed you. But do not worry, for I will do as you would want me to do: I will live. No matter how much it costs me...no matter how difficult it is...I will live. I will live and do penance each day for the sins that have brought us to this state, and I will look after each and everyone of us here, just like how you have done in life. When my time comes...I will spend the rest of eternity making up to you for all the misery I have brought you. Harry, my cub, my child...I love you. I wished I had told you this sooner, but I truly love you as I would my own child. I am sorry - more sorry than I can ever say - for everything. Rest in peace, cub, rest in peace..."_

_"The wheel turns, _

_As life is a day, so our brother has passed into the night."_

Sirius, who was seated next to Remus, was also lost in a sea of memories of what could have been. His eyes, more grey now than silver, were fixed on the coffin in which his godson lay, and he was unwittingly pulling at the ring on his finger, much like what Remus was doing with his necklace. It was a ring of pure gold, simple yet exquisite, and set with a perfect ruby that burned as red as passion itself. It had also been a deathbed gift from Harry.

What he felt now was beyond words, beyond all expression.

James and Lily had trusted him as a friend and a godfather...and he certainly ruined everything. Nothing was supposed to happen to them. It should not be ending this way. But Peter betrayed them all. Sirius should have been there taking care of Harry all those years. Instead, he got himself landed in Azkaban, and Harry - poor, innocent, sweet little Harry - was left with Lily's hateful sister and her despicable husband, both of whom saw to it that their nephew was as miserable as possible for Merlin-knows-how many years. Though the mere thought of it had been too frightening and too terrible to imagine, Sirius could not help but agree with James that Harry had ultimately chose death as it was the only way he could be free from a war-torn world and from a life that had rarely had happy.

He saw now, with the clarity and hindsight that came only after tragedy had occurred, so many things that he should have done differently.

He should never have proposed making cowardly, treacherous Peter the Secret Keeper.

He should never have gone after Peter for revenge. He should have gone straight instead to Dumbledore and Remus, present all the facts, pushed for a trial to prove his innocence to the world at large, and then claim guardianship of his godson, and give him the childhood that he deserved.

He should have broken out of Azkaban earlier, instead of moping around in depression, allowing his brooding over his dearest friends' deaths and Peter's betrayal to become an obsession that took over every aspect of him altogether. If he had done so, then perhaps the intense physical and mental damage inflicted upon his godson by those damnable Dursleys might have been uncovered, just in time for it to be undone, and then perhaps Harry might still be alive today.

He should have tried to build a closer, more intimate relationship with his godson when he had the chance to, instead of letting himself go and trying desperately to find James' shadow in Harry. _"You're a lot less like your father than I thought. The risk would've been what made it fun for James." _Sirius had to shut his eyes to prevent any tears from flowing out as he recalled that one moment where he betrayed how dark his nature could actually be. How could he have said such a thing to Harry? How could he? Oh, Jesus Christ, how could he? It was cold, and cruel, and Harry had already experienced such coldness and cruelty in life already. As Harry's own godfather, as "the closest thing to a parent Harry had ever known" in Dumbledore's terms, how could he have added on to that unspeakable hurt, when he had already failed so totally and completely by robbing his godson of his parents?

Hermione had been right. He really was _selfish. _

Selfish enough to care more about getting revenge on Peter Pettigrew than taking care of his godson. Selfish enough to disregard Dumbledore's and Hermione's warnings that Kreacher could actually be dangerous, and hence should always be treated with kindness and respect. Selfish enough to disregard Harry's feelings, allowing his godson to see him losing himself in alcohol and shadows of the past, when the two of them could have actually _talked _and gotten to know each other better. Selfish enough to disregard Harry's concern for his well-being and safety, and even cruelly accuse him of not proudly following in his father's footsteps.

Yes, he was undoubtedly the most selfish man ever born on the planet.

Once, he could have looked at an honest, honourable witch or wizard straight in the eye, and proudly say that he was different from his family - as different as day and night, and that he was worthy of every trust and respect. But now he could not. Now he saw that he had been just as evil as any other Muggle-hating, Dark-Arts-worshipping member of his family, after all. Perhaps he was even as bad as Bellatrix Lestrange, the cousin whom he loathed above all others. After all, he had, in a way, "tortured" his godson by condemning him to an undeserved childhood of neglect and cruelty, so much so that his godson ended up welcoming Death with open arms and a warm willing smile after fulfilling his accursed "duty" to both the wizarding and Muggle worlds once and for all. Was it not unlike how Bellatrix tortured Frank and Alice into insanity, to the extent where they could not recognise even their own son after so many years, and where an ignorant onlooker would have commented that it would actually have been better if they had been killed instead?

Yes, he was not only selfish, but also evil. Evil. Pure, undiluted, utter evil.

It was his fault that James and Lily died once, and missed their chance at giving Harry the happy, wonderful childhood that he always deserved.

It was his fault that Harry suffered, that Harry was now gone forever and was never ever coming back.

It was his fault...it was his fault...it was his fault...

_"Harry, I am sorry. I am so...so...so...sorry. More sorry than I can ever say. I swear, I did not mean for any of this to happen. I never meant to hurt you, honest, I never ever meant to. I truly love you as if you were my very own son. Please, please just give me - us - another chance, Harry, and come back. I will make it up to you, even if...even if it takes all eternity, Harry. Anything for you. Please, please just give us another chance and come back, Harry, I am begging you. You have suffered so much, you have suffered enough. I - We would not let anything bad happen to you ever again. We just want to see you smile, hear you laugh, and watch you play. Please give us all the chance to take care of you and get to know the real you. Please wake up. Please come back. We all need you...I need you...please come back...we will die without you...we are nothing without you...please, Prongslet, come back..."_

_"Nothing is final, and we who remain behind know that, one day,_

_We will once again share the bread and wine with our brother_

_O blessed spirit, farewell, for you await a new destiny."_

With that, the Wiccan Priest untied the silver cord and gently laid it into the ceremonial chalice. One by one, the candles representing Life, Death, and Eternity were blown out. The coffin was laid into the earth. At the sight of this, something inside Ginny snapped. Suddenly, the thought of facing the future and living without Harry seemed impossible and unbearable. She burst into tears. Long streams of hot, salty tears were already flowing uncontrollably from Ron's and Hermione's eyes. Luna turned away and made to run, as if by running away could she be free of this nightmare that had trapped them all. Possibly, she wanted her mother, but it was just a feeling, not a conscious thought. Had Neville not caught her before she could break off and hugged her, and had Luna not felt the tears upon her boyfriend's face, she was uncertain how far she might have fled, for her mother had been dead for eleven years. Her tears completely spent and dried, Lily buried her head in her husband's broad shoulder. His face an expressionless, empty mask, James Potter wrapped his muscular arms around his wife, offering what comfort he could. Like his wife, there were no tears on his mask-like face - he had cried and raged and stormed and begged until he also had no more tears to shed. Sirius covered his face with his hands, his heart crushing from overwhelming waves of sorrow and extreme guilt. Remus suddenly lost control and released the cry that he had been suppressing: a cry of pure pain, rage, and anguish for the lost boy of one of his dearest friends, a boy who had willingly given his all to provide two worlds with a new dawn, and yet had been denied a chance of living for himself and himself only even after fulfilling the destiny he never wanted. The intensity of the emotions expressed in the cry was such that Dumbledore sank to his knees, defeat and self-loathing in his eyes, guilt and helplessness written all over his face, his very air seemed to radiate despair.

_"God, how many mistakes I have made, and how much I have hurt you, Harry, my boy. Perhaps it is death that makes one look back with such clarity on the errors of a life. Harry, my boy, my child, my only true family...I will not ask you to forgive me, for I do not deserve it. Not in the least. I will ask you only, Harry, to believe that I truly and genuinely love you, and care for you. I can swear upon my immortal soul on this. And please believe that for what I have done to you, for all of it, I am truly, humbly, utterly...sorry."_

It was done.

Harry was gone. Gone. Gone. _Forever._

* * *

At a distance, two tall, stately figures invisible to mortal eyes witnessed the entire tragic, heartbreaking scene. They would have given anything and everything to be able to reveal themselves, and offer whatever comfort and advice they could to their loved ones, but it was not to be, for the rules were strict and irrevocable.

"This is not the end, is it, Edwin?"

"No. It is definitely not the end. Fate and destiny always love to play tricks on heroes who bear the very weight of the world on their shoulders, and our grandson, our children, and all their friends are no exception. I am afraid, Charles, that greater trials and tribulations lie ahead for our loved ones and for the world as well."

"You know, all this reminds me of a quote I memorised from watching _The Mummy._"

"And what might that be?"

_"Death is only the beginning."_

* * *

Author's Note II:

Okay, before anyone starts throwing slippers or blows, let me explain this fic further.

1. This fanfiction is written solely based on a fit of sudden inspiration. Weird, is it not? But then, I myself am a weirdo - my friends all say that they have never known a person who likes reading books so much, and that it is a miracle my eyes have remained free from glasses.

2. After reading all the books, I was actually quite dissatisfied with the characters of Dumbledore, Sirius, and Remus. Don't get me wrong - I know that the three of them were ultimately good people who gave their very lives to protect the world and their loved ones, but I cannot help but be severely disapproving of some of their actions.

For instance, the much-argued issue of Dumbledore placing the infant Harry with the Dursleys, despite the fact that he knew full well that he would be condemning Harry to "ten dark and difficult years". Okay, I know the part about the blood wards, and that Harry is literally _untouchable_ when he is with the Dursleys, but shouldn't Dumbledore have taken note of his safety _within the walls_ as well? Surely it would not have killed Dumbledore just to check on him to ensure that he was _happy _apart from being alive? Why did he only confront the Dursleys over their treatment of Harry only when he just had to spend one last year with them? Isn't that far too late? Oh...thinking about it simply makes me angry with Dumbledore on Harry's behalf.

Next would be Sirius. A point that kept bugging me was that why didn't Sirius escape earlier? Why did he wait for twelve long years before making his escape, when his powers were left intact the whole time? If he had escaped earlier, then surely by some miracle of magic he would be able to prove his innocence and save Harry from the Dursleys. But no, he only escaped when he realised that where Peter was. I myself cannot believe I am saying this, but it seems to me that Sirius cares only about getting revenge on Peter than caring for the godson whose parents he had, how ever indirectly and bitterly unwillingly, helped to kill. It seems to me that if Sirius had never saw Peter on the newspaper, he would have chosen to stay and die in Azkaban, preferring to wallow in shadows of the past and waste his time in useless idleness, instead of helping to undo whatever damages he has done. And I was incensed when he actually made that comment about Harry not being like his father. How could he say such a thing?

Last but not least would be Remus. Why did he not, as the last remaining Marauder and technically Harry's "surrogate uncle", attempt to contact Harry once during those ten miserable, wretched years that his "cub" spent with the Dursleys? Why had he never visited Harry to ensure that he was being properly treated, and that he would at least have some connection to his parents? Why had he left the poor boy all alone in a cold, cruel, and indifferent home with no one to turn to? And why did he maintain a distance from Harry even when he was his teacher? Should he not have attempted to build an intimate uncle-nephew relationship with the cub that he had already failed so much? Again, the part in the Half-Blood Prince movie where he snaps at Harry upsets me every time I watch it.

Okay, perhaps you all would say that I am being too harsh on the three of them, and that there are two sides to every coin, but this is honestly how I feel about the entire situation, and what bugs me most of all is that never once did these three apologise to Harry for - each in their own individual way - making his life miserable. Hence, I envisioned a situation where each and everyone of them realised their errors...and it turned out to be a major contributing factor to the birth of this fic. If I had offended anyone this way, I sincerely apologise for it, and I swear that no personal attack or slight on anyone reading this fic is intended - this is just what I and I alone personally feel. I have no wish to hurt or anger or upset anyone, I swear.

3. I was always curious about the Potter and Evans parents, both sets of whom were only mentioned slightly in the books. Hence, I have decided to weave a web from whatever clues I can gather about them.

4. Whether or not I turn this fic into a full true story would, as mentioned earlier, ultimately depend on the number and kinds of reviews I get. So please kindly help me make a choice, and know that suggestions are and would always be appreciated. Thank you all!


	2. Chapter 2

_This is the Resurrection Stone, created by the Angel of Death himself, damn it! It has been used to summon people before, and we are going to use it to summon our Harry now whether you like it or not! No more games, no more playing the good boy! I – we want to talk to our Harry. We need to talk to our Harry. At the very least, you owe us that._

Drawing a sharp soul-cleansing breath, James turned the Resurrection Stone over in his right hand thrice. Lily, Sirius, and Remus watched with bated breath.

Then they closed their eyes and waited, hope warring with despair in every inch of their souls and beings.

At the sound of slight movement, they all opened their eyes.

And froze.

Thick, glossy darkly-golden hair cut short and styled neat. Huge, wide soul-searching eyes the darkest shade of brown lushly fringed with indigo lashes. Exquisitely-trimmed whiskers and beard framing a well-formed face. A perfect Cupid's bow mouth. Embroidered black-green robes setting off an impressive height and physique.

"Dad?" James asked, at once disappointed and relieved.

"Hello, my children. How are you all?" Charles Potter asked, his voice seemingly coming from another world despite it still being as warm and loving as ever whenever he addressed the people who meant everything to him.

Four pair of eyes simply stared at him as though he were an idiot. "How are we?" James retorted, his fine contralto voice cracking with emotional strain. _Of all the questions to ask… _"_How are we? _Are you kidding? Since when have you become stupid, Dad? Do you and the others not get the news up there?"

Lily shook her copper-crimson head. "James…" a look from her husband, however, made the words of reproach instantly die on the tip of her tongue. Clearly, given the current situation, James was – justifiably so, some might even add – _not_ in a mood for niceties, even if the person to whom he was being rude to was the father whom he revered almost the point of worship. And besides, she then reflected, it was unfair to deny him some form of outlet for his wretchedness, especially since it was blatantly evident as to how he had been restraining his rage and grief over how fate and destiny had toyed about with him, his wife, and most of all, his son.

Charles gave a little sigh. "I am sorry. What I meant was: how are you all holding up?"

An unnerving silence followed this inquiry. James and Lily remained the poster boy and girl for heartbreak beyond expression; Sirius lowered his grey-blue eyes to the floor. It was Remus who took the unwanted task of speaking for all of them, taking a deep sharp breath for steadiness as he did so: "Not well at all, Mr. Potter. We are lost. Utterly, desperately lost. Why did you not come before? When we called after…"

"I could not. I was busy."

"I beg your pardon?" Sirius raised his head to stare at the man who had been his surrogate father in life in the eye, arching a perfect winged eyebrow.

Despite knowing full well that it might trigger another flood of tears and mental breakdown, Charles decided on the truth. There had already been too many lies in this story of theirs, so much so that it had caused each and every one of them unutterable sorrows, and he personally had no wish to add on anymore. "I was with Harry."

There was another silence, far un-easier and more absolute than the previous one, at this admission.

Harry.

Indigo-haired, emerald-eyed, Quidditch-loving Harry.

Always thoughtful and caring.

Always brave and courageous.

Always self-sacrificial.

A pure soul with a strength and grace the like of which none has ever known.

And yet…

"Oh." James said silently, his face pale. "Of course you were." He nodded, steeling his nerves. _Do not break down, do not break down. My Harry, my Prongslet, would not want that. Do not break down, do not break down…_ "Right. It makes perfect sense. Is he okay?"

An overwhelming wave of sadness threatened to drown Charles Potter as he studied the four faces before him. _All so hopeful, but so desperate, so helpless…_ "Edwin, Abigail, your Mom and I have been temporarily allowed into the Isles of the Blest to help him through this."

Lily took a determined step forward, her green eyes burning. "But how is he?" It was somewhat of a comfort to know that her parents and James' were trying to help her beloved boy to adjust to the afterlife, but she needed to know more. From her own time in the afterlife, she had learnt that the final resting place for the souls of pure true-hearted heroes like her son was a completely different dimension from the usual one where the _"normally good"_ go: the _Fortunate Isles, _more commonly known as the _Isles of the Blest_, was an idyllic land of fruitfulness and rest, filled with the most delightful songs. Tales in the spirit worlds told of a non-existence of winter and torrential rain, and an eternally-temperate climate where only the mild West Wind blew. There was also a stream of rich sweet wine – a purely magical wine that could heal any wound or sickness, and even restore the breath of life to a corpse so long as the person's natural Providence-ordained purpose was _unfulfilled_. It was an existence like no other, one of magic and happiness in their purest forms, and most of all, love. But it was still Lily Potter's fear that even a magical resting world that was wonderful beyond expectation might fail in healing her darling Harry's spirit, given that her son had experienced too many matchless horrors in life (thanks to a monstrous snake-faced madman and a manipulate meddling old goat). "How is he, Daddy? Oh, please let us see him. Please. Just once. _Just only once._ You have the power to do it. We all know you have. Conjure him up, I beg you. I will do anything, please…Daddy…_please_…"

Charles' rich black-brown eyes softened at his daughter-in-law's endearing pleas, but he knew that he could not budge. Rules were rules, and there was still a limit in the Covenant's usual "one-eye-open, one-eye-shut" policy. The last thing he and the others wanted would be their rights to visit their living loved ones being revoked. If that ever happened…it was all he could do not to shudder. "None of you are allowed to see him, at least…not for a while, anyway."

Anger, such an intimate companion these days for the four of them, immediately flared to life within them, blazing high and bright. _Those blasted rules…the damned Covenant…_ "Why?" James and Lily asked in perfect unison, their eyes and voices now as cold and hard as can be. The statements _"We are his parents. He is our son. Nothing, not even death, could ever change that. Since when was it a crime for parents to want to see their child?" _was written all over their faces, evident in their very airs. "Why must it be this way?"

"I do not mean to boast, but each and every one of us here in this room is a hero who has contributed at considerable personal cost – one way or another – to heralding a bright new dawn to both the wizarding and Muggle worlds. And hence, there are laws that state we are entitled to certain special privileges that others do not get to enjoy, amongst them the pleasure to see spirits of the dead, whoever he may be. It is a personal decree from Providence, one that was set since the beginning of the war between the forces of good and evil." Remus ground out silently, his mild gentle tone contrasting dramatically with his eyes, which were flashing amber. The wolf was stirring within him with restless wrath, and he was currently only applying a half-hearted restraint. Sirius flashed him an approving grin, his own eyes sparkling darkly with unmistakable fury.

To them, this was unacceptable in every sense of the word.

Charles drew himself to his full and genuinely considerable height, demonstrating that the former-Patriarch of the Potter family was not a man who could be easily intimidated, even in the face of righteous fury. "You are right, Remus. It is indeed Providence's will that heroes like you all are entitled to occasionally summon up spirits from their rest, that you all may speak and interact with them to better survive the sadness of loss, and to adjust more quickly to the pain of separation, but circumstances alter cases," he started to explain in the strong yet gentle manner of a teacher in the process of imparting a vital life-lesson. "The Covenant has confided in me and the others that it is Providence's will that none of you all shall be allowed to see Harry until the time is right," he held up a hand for silence, seeing that the four of them were about to open their mouths to argue. "Let me finish first, my children. You can do whatever you want when I am done. Curse like a sailor. Cry about the filth you were forced to go through. Throw tantrums at me. Threaten to kill the Covenant for standing in your way, for goodness' sake. Just let me finish first."

Despite not really needing it, Charles first took a breath, and then continued: "I believe you all will agree with me that our Harry has been forced to go through the most terrible ordeals, one after another, ever since he was born. He has extremely rarely been happy in life. Loneliness and misery of the sheerest kinds have walked step-by-step with him every day of his life. The wounds that he ultimately died of were not of the body, but of the _spirit._ In all honesty, no words could describe the horror, the shock that Edwin, Abigail, Dorothy and I felt when we first saw his spirit. Never, _never ever_ have we ever seen a soul so damaged, so lost, so simultaneously despairing yet hopeful. He has only just recently started to heal in the serenity and beauty of the Isle of the Blest. Raphael visits him personally three times a day, and his diagnosis was that it was going to be a long, intense and difficult process that could afford no disruption. This was exactly why we were allowed into that otherwise forbidden Paradise: all the help that could be given had to be applied. I hate to say this; I seriously do, but…if you all were allowed to see him right now, it would not help at all, and in fact it only would make him worse, given that you all have now become a symbol of his pain, a representation of what could have been but would never be, a reminder of why he ultimately choose death over life." Charles sighed, a deep anguished sound that seemed to echo throughout the suddenly-silent room, and lowered his eyes to the ground. "And that is why Providence and the Covenant had decided to forbid you all from seeing him in the meantime."

_Strange._ The part of Lily's brain that had managed the miracle of retaining its rationality noted the hot, salty tears that were rolling down her cheeks, which had been drained of their rosy colour at this excruciatingly painful, yet irrefutably logical explanation._ I am crying? I still have tears? I thought they had all dried up._

His handsome face as whiter than a corpse, his knees suddenly weak, James swayed as if he were about to faint, and had to be supported by his silently-sobbing wife. Sirius simply sank to the ground, his face a portrait of a despair and a self-loathing that were only second compared to that of his surrogate brother's. Remus' own countenance twisted in shame and heartbreak, it was only by sheerest force of will that he was holding down the broken wolf's cry.

_Oh, might as well get it over and done with; tell them everything that I know. Secrecy and concealment was what got us all into this mess in the first place, so let me be the first to put a stop to that once and for all. Let the seeds of honesty and truth now be sown and flourish. We owe each other that. We owe Harry that…_ "The Covenant has also confided in me one other thing," he said, capturing everyone's attention again. "There is another reason why you all are not allowed to see Harry."

Sirius laughed a hard, bitter little laugh that made it easy for people to understand why his sanity was still a matter of debate. "And that would be?"

"If you all were allowed to see and interact with Harry right now, it would keep him alive for you all. It would prevent the whole lot of you from moving on with your lives, from continuing with your destinies."

At this, a complex mixture of incredulity and indignation took over.

"Destiny? _What destiny_?" it was Remus spat the questions, his voice so cold and so quiet that Greyback himself might have shuddered in fear if his ears had caught wind of it. "Okay. It is over. It is done. Voldemort and his minions have all been vanquished. My cub, my nephew in all but blood, had sacrificed his very own life to make sure of that. And we…"

"I know, Remus, I know." Charles said gently, soothingly, trying to calm the wolf down._ Merlin, Remus does have a breaking point after all._ "But you know what they always say: there is a reason for everything. I have been told that your destinies – not only yours, actually, but also those of Harry's friends – still wait."

Sirius scoffed. "And what destinies is it that awaits us? Voldemort is already dead. His followers have all been dealt with as well. The Dark Side has lost – utterly, irrevocably, hopelessly lost. Mr. Potter, you should know that. Everyone knows that."

The coppery-gold head nodded. "I do know that, Sirius. And I agree with you totally. The others and I are also puzzled as to why the Covenant is adamantly insisting that your destinies are still incomplete, when you all had already seemed to fulfill them by delivering to the Dark Side a blow so hard that it would hopefully be everlasting. I wish that I could tell you all more, but I cannot, as I am also honestly ignorant as to what exactly is going on. James, Lily, you two should know what the Covenant can be like. Their traps are shut tight."

Lily scowled in annoyance. "Let me guess. The Covenant refuses to speak more because the _time is not right_. They will only reveal the _surprises of our futures_ to us when everything in in their proper places. Am I right?"

"Jackpot, my child." A rueful, small smile curled Charles' lips. "But do not worry yourselves too much. Edwin, Abigail, Dorothy and I will do everything in our power to find out more and let you all know as soon as possible."

James sighed. "Thanks, Daddy. But that is really not our top priority. Harry is. He should always be. Make sure that –"

"I know, my child, I know. The others and I wholeheartedly agree that Harry comes first, that he is our top priority. We will not forget or neglect to care for him as much as we can while investigating the infuriating, disagreeable mysteries that are the Covenant and the future. Never ever. You all have our word on this. Rest assured that he will not be left alone, not even for an instant, unless he wishes to be and it would prove beneficial to him (though the chances of that are, admittedly, highly unlikely), and that we will do everything in our power to help heal his wounds and make him happy."

With that, Charles raised his right hand in a gesture of goodbye, smiling his truest warmest smile at the four of them: it was time for him to go. "Blessed be."


	3. Chapter 3

Even after decades of work, Tom still found the thought and sight of regular customers to be both blessing and curse.

Why? Well, because there are always two sides to every coin, as the unfair judgmental world of today unfailingly decreed.

The professional businessman in him delighted in his customers' devotion to his pub, as it meant money and prosperity for him and his employees, and of course kept the Leaky Cauldron smooth-sailing and as famous as ever. The irritatingly inevitable flip of the coin, however, revealed a kind-hearted and thoughtful man who took especial note of whatever his customers ordered each time, given that he knew only too well that all drinks had both positive _and _negative effects. As Professor Slughorn once said: _"Too much of a good thing, you know…highly toxic in large quantities."_ And from time to time, he would attempt to step in and try his best to put a stop if abuse was obvious. If he tried and succeeded, he would have done a good deed. If he failed, well, at least his conscience was clear in the sense that he did try his best to help.

The situation he currently faced now was obviously one that was doomed to failure from the start, given that there was a kind of grief in which no condolences could possibly soothe, and the drink – or _the booze_, if one wanted to be honest about it – was such an easy and tempting and irresistible outlet, even if the "numbing" relief it provided was only temporary.

Although still a distinguished-looking young man, Remus John Lupin had lost much weight and his cheeks were sunken. A complex mixture of grief, rage and utter self-loathing had cast a greyish pallor over his once moon-white skin. The gold-and-green-flecked brown eyes that used to sparkle with formidable intelligence, a serene joy of life, with warmth and love were now bloodshot, dull and heavily-shadowed by torment and shame. Sirius Black was little better. Once godly handsome, his leanly muscled body had wasted away to a sickly gauntness. The same heartbreak-fueled grey pallor that plagued his friend had also affected him dramatically: the beautiful bronze that had coloured his healthy skin with pride and allure had been eased away. There were even streaks of silver in the black hair that lung limply down his back – hair that had once been a glorious pristine cascade of silk-textured night-darkness, the envy and despair of so many in his childhood and teenage years. Violet bruise-like shadows that betrayed sleeplessness and constant fantasies of what might have been made his eyes – more grey now than silver, and no less dull and bloodshot than his friend's – appear all the more lost, more haunted.

To be fair, it must be said that the devastation from the loss of losing a beloved one had still been kind to both Remus and Sirius, given that a sharp eye and a closer look would reveal that both men still retained vestiges of their handsomeness, but also in a way that blatantly shouted out to the world at large: "these men have lost what meant most to them".

"What would it be, boys?" Despite knowing well what the answer was, Tom still could not help but hope against hope that the two men would not be drowning themselves in the booze yet again. He knew that they were in pain, and he could not say that he fully understood the pain they were in, but if there was one thing he was perfectly sure of, it would be that this was not the right way to deal with it.

The boy whom they were mourning for would definitely be against their self-destructive, self-loathing behaviour; he was certain of that as well.

Sirius raised a brow. "Do you really have to ask, Tom? Of course it's the usu –"

"Mr. Lupin and Mr. Black will have a hot chocolate each. I will have a Butterbeer."

"_What?"_ Sirius and Remus turned over, completely stunned that someone had just ordered drinks for "them".

Dressed in an impeccable mourning suit and looking older than his twenty years with shadowed eyes, slack laughter-lines and a sickly-pale complexion, Cedric Diggory gave his former-Professor and the ex-Azkaban convict a polite bow. "Good evening, Mr. Lupin. Mr. Black. Hope you two would not mind me joining in, for I am in desperate utter need of company."

* * *

Sirius and Remus hated to admit it, but the steaming chocolate was delicious down their throats, and excellent in their stomachs. It actually warmed them both, not mentally, perhaps, but physically. It was a razor-sharp contrast to the bittersweet, chilly beverage that they had been consuming with the thirst of a man dying in a scorching desert in a vain attempt to numb the pain, to run away from the inescapable nightmare that they were trapped in.

"You both looked like you needed drinks," Cedric took a sip of his Butterbeer. "Drinks that are _harmless_ and would not leave you two feeling worse when you wake up the next day."

He had expected either of them to have flared up at the implied rebuke (it was becoming common knowledge even amongst the public that the human grim and the former-werewolf had volcanic tempers that could be triggered by even the slightest provocation these days), but surprisingly he received something different altogether: a careless shrug from Sirius, and a silent "thanks" from the man whom he still considered to be the best _Defense Against The Dark Arts_ Professor he had ever been privileged to learn from.

"I have heard that both of you have been drinking a very great deal, Professor, Mr. Black." His voice, despite still full of genuine politeness, had also grown serious and silent. His silver eyes studied the two much-older wizards as a devoted doctor would his most stubborn patients. "Much more than your intimate friends can ever remember, and they are growing increasingly concerned about the both of you. Do you two know that?" His sleek perfect brow arched in inquiry as he watched them, waiting for their response. Cedric Diggory was never one to be subtle.

_Merlin, just what we need, another lecture…_

"Cedric, if you truly respect and look up to me as your teacher, please do not start in on Mr. Black and I here, please." Remus groaned. He not only looked weary, but even sounded weary. Wearier than anyone Cedric had ever seen. "None of us want to deal with this tonight."

Sirius stared the devastatingly handsome boy who reminded him so much of his own youth. The dark shades of his suit brought out the bronze of his hair and the silver in his eyes, and the stylish cut set off his tall, trim, beautifully muscular physique to perfection. _The pleasures of youth…delights that I once reveled in with all of my heart and my soul…but shall no more…_ "How are your parents?"

"They are fine, thank you." Cedric replied, recognising at once Sirius' attempt to change the subject and determined to stop it. He had to say his piece, _he had to_. It was not only for them, but also for Harry. "It is because I truly respect and look up to the two of you as my teachers that I have to say this: This is _not_ the way. It really is not. I know that you two are in pain, and I cannot imagine the pain you two are in, but I do know that the route you two are going is making the heaviness about you two worse by the day. You two should speak to someone. Speak to Mr. and Mrs. Potter. They understand better than anyone else what you two are going through right now. Talk to a psychiatrist from St. Mungo, or at least Madam Pomfrey. Just get some help."

For several moments there was silence as Sirius and Remus stared at Cedric, simultaneously seeing yet not seeing him. The nightmares and flashbacks had not lessened, but seemed to have intensified, especially after the funeral and Charles' revelations. How could they possibly describe to anyone, make anyone understand, the grief of their loss, the wrenching guilt, the crippling trauma, and the fears of what the unpredictable merciless Fates had in store for them next? No matter what anyone said, there would always be a vital part of Sirius and Remus that believed that they were solely responsible for the torment that everyone was currently trapped in with no hopes of ever escaping. It was a theory that was so firmly planted in their minds that was sheer folly for anyone to try to snap them out of it.

They could not shake off the thought of the look of peace and acceptance on Harry's face when he closed his eyes in the eternal sleep. It was a serene and innocently beautiful expression that made their surrogate nephew looked as though he was an Angel, merely sweetly sleeping amongst a bed of clouds.

But it had filled them to the brim with dread and self-loathing and despair.

All in their sheerest forms.

For what eighteen-year-old boy would choose death with such wholehearted willingness, even clearly viewing it as a form of the ultimate release? He must have had led a most unhappy life for as long as he could remember, so unhappy that it became impossible for him to find any joy in an earthly world, leading him to ultimately look upon death as his one and only ticket to freedom, his very last chance at finding some happiness. Their eyes squeezed shut. James and Lily had loved and trusted them both dearly, unconditionally, giving them hope when there was none, and they repaid them by ruining their beloved son's life and even driving him into the arms of death itself.

"Have you tried the Resurrection Stone?" Cedric finally broke the silence with the question that everyone had been wondering.

"We have. But it was Charles who came to us instead. He told us that Harry is now at the _Isles of the Blest_, undergoing spiritual treatment, and we are forbidden to see him in the meantime as it would only worsen his condition." Remus' voice was lifeless, his eyes now dark with unshed tears. "Charles has also confided in us that our…destinies are yet to be fulfilled. The Fates apparently still have plans for us." He gave a bitter little laugh that seemed to shriek: _Like we give a shit about that! We just want Harry back!_

Cedric shook his head. "I do not understand. How can things still not be over? Everyone knows that the Dark Side has suffered the most serious defeat imaginable, and is not going to be causing trouble anytime soon. If ever. How can it still not be over?"

Sirius shrugged. "Fantastic question. Unfortunately, we have no answer to that. Our only current guarantee is that Charles has promised to keep us updated regularly. He will let us know as soon as possible once he and the others find out more information."

"That is our best hope then, I think." Cedric sighed. Though he himself had only spent a relatively short time in the world of the dead, he – like all the others – had learnt many things that Voldemort would kill to learn, and the foremost of them was that the Covenant never ever unveiled secrets concerning the future and Providence's will easily. In fact, they could give people like Kendra and Albus Dumbledore a run for their money.

The temptation to order booze was becoming increasingly strong to Remus, which was a first, considering his reputation as a notorious chocolate-addict. But he checked the gesture to summon Tom for the order, very suddenly ashamed for Cedric to see them both like this. He scrutinized his former-student carefully. At the age of twenty, Cedric Diggory was an arresting presence and the epitome of a handsome young man, but the air of fresh-faced innocence and robust eagerness that should have been about him was non-existent. Death and loss had left their marks. He was leaner now; he had the look of a man to be reckoned with, who had taken a devastating blow and had learned to live with it. His stunning silver eyes, however, were soft and shadowed with a deep sadness, and at times even seemed unfocused. There was also an utter dejection about him, and the laughter lines about his face had truly gone slack, as if mirth was someone with whom he had severed ties with forever.

_He is grieving too,_ Remus noted, touched and surprisingly a little comforted._ Grieving, mourning over Harry's death. He has never really been close to Harry in life, but he had always nursed a secret admiration and a genuine fondness of Harry, which only deepened when he learnt of Harry's purity and strength. He has been always watching Harry closely along with the others ever since he died, wishing him well and praying that he would always stay strong and true and brave. And now that everything has switched, with Harry gone and we all brought back, he genuinely mourns for him as though he had lost a most beloved friend. Or a darling little brother…_His heart warmed towards Cedric.

He reached over and grabbed his former-student's hand. "Thank you, Cedric, for your concerns, but we shall be fine." He squeezed his hand and released it, fighting off the depression that again threatened to overwhelm him. Sirius was making a show of studying his hands, as though they were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. Both men sensed the young boy watching them, as intently as he had since the beginning of their conversation, but neither of them would allow themselves to look into his eyes.

"Professor, Mr. Black," he said softly. "Professor, Mr. Black, look at me, please." Their eyes finally came up to his. "I know it is excruciatingly painful, but please _do not_ try to drown it in drink. It does not work." Tears began to well his eyes, turning them liquid silver. "I know it does not work because I have already tried." By the end, his voice was a mere whisper.

The two men and the young boy stared long and hard at each other. Sirius and Remus broke the gaze first, and Cedric could sense that they were closing his feelings, drifting from him once again. Soon their familiar emotional barricades would be up, and they would be lost in their own personal demons.

He drank the last of his Butterbeer and stood, feeling worse than he already felt, not knowing what else to do or say. It was now apparent to Cedric that Sirius and Remus had lost their places in the world during the wars, weighed down by all the years away, years of sacrifices made for the Greater Good, memories and regrets for what they had seen, all the years of normal living they had missed, and..._most of all..._what they _should_ have done with regards to Harry. Now, both were at the edge of giving up hope for the future, despite the fact that the stormy winter of the wars was over, as the beloved spirit who had brought a new fresh pleasant spring had sacrificed himself in the attempt to do so, and they both – unarguably – owed him so much.

Well, Cedric Diggory simply would not let them.

Yes, they had every right to grieve – was not he himself grieving too? – But to allow the grip of sorrow to be all-consuming and everlasting and invincible was wrong. Wrong in every sense of the word.

Harry would not want that.

He would definitely want them to rejoin the world of the living.

"I know it is going to be extremely difficult, but you two _must_ somehow find your own ways home, Professor, Mr. Black, in both body _and_ soul." His voice was gentle but firm, and his eyes were dark with deep genuine concern as he regarded the two of them.

"I do not know if you two had ever heard of this saying: _True character is revealed in the dark_. I might know you two very well, but I have every confidence in both of yours. You two are two of the finest men I have ever been privileged to meet." He turned to leave.

"Thank you, Cedric. It has been nice chatting with you." They simultaneously spoke, so brusquely and low it was barely audible. "Know that you will be welcomed anytime at the Potter Palace. We all know that you have been a good and helpful friend to Harry." Remus added with a ghost of a smile, though his eyes were dark with unshed tears.

Reaching the door, Cedric turned to press his point home: "Harry is a noble and true-hearted soul, full of faith and love. One of my greatest regrets is that I never took the initiative to get to know him better, to be closer to him. But I know one thing about him for sure: he would not want you two to grieve endlessly; he would want you two to _move on_. He would want you two to be strong, to be brave. And to _live_ for him. You two owe him that, at least. We _all_ do."

* * *

The suite was magnificent, enough to make even Lucius Malfoy go emerald-green with envy. An enormous, canopied four-poster bed, draped in red velvet hanging embroidered with flowers of pearls and diamonds and gold, dominated the space. The rest of the furniture was antique, all of it glided. The bathroom had a floor of gleaming, polished white marble, with a Jacuzzi in the center, a shower at the left corner, a gigantic mirror complete with the necessary amenities, and a separate toilet. Heavy Baccarat crystal vases filled blossoms of pear, apple, peach and plum were scattered throughout the room.

Despite the exquisite quality of the sumptuous bed, James and Lily could not sleep. Their precious beloved boy's trials, his funeral, Charles' revelations – all had unsettled them, and no matter how tightly they shut their eyes, or mentally counted sheep, it was an age before they finally drifted off, and then they slept fitfully, or so it seemed.

Neither of them was sure of what awoke them. Was it the cold? Unlikely, given the richly-embroidered blanket was snug and warm. Then they became aware that they were not alone. There was a dark shape standing at the end of their bed.

Strange to say, neither James nor Lily reached for each other's hands in alarm, or drew their wands, or lit the lamp. Unusual, definitely, but they just did not.

"Sirius? Remus?" James whispered. But the figure did not answer or move. Its face was in shadow, indeed, the whole of its body was shrouded in the gloom, but it looked like a young boy, and they felt, with the first stirrings of unease, that it was watching them.

_Wait a minute. Why they were not alarmed? Should they not be alarmed?_

"Sirius? Remus?" James repeated, more insistently. Lily now held his hand in a tight grip, emerald eyes straining, trying to unravel the mystery that stood before them. The dark figure was still there, but _something_ told both of them that it was neither Sirius nor Remus. That same something also seemed to be telling them that they should not switch on the lights or inquire further if they wanted the shape to stay.

_Weirder and weirder. What was that something, anyway? And why would they want some strange shadow by their bed to remain where it was?_

They were beginning to wonder if it was a trick of the darkness, or the shadow cast by a piece of furniture or the bed itself, when suddenly it held out its arms towards them. In that poignant gesture, there was supplication, yearning, and something else, something that was not frightening at all, but surprisingly comforting.

Astonished, James and Lily rubbed the sleep from their eyes. When they opened them again, the shape had gone. The room was empty.

They exchanged one silent glance. Had they dreamt it? Or had it really been there?

It was then that Lily took a deep sharp breath and gripped James' hand tighter.

"What is it, Lily?"

"Harry?" Lily whispered, trying out the bittersweet word on her tongue. "Harry, is it you?" Even without looking at her husband, she sensed James' eyes widen, and then dart about wonderingly, desperately. The irresistible conclusion, the only one she wanted to believe, was that their Harry's shade had come to them.

But there was no answer.


	4. Chapter 4

Neither James nor Lily spoke to each other or their friends about their strange, heartbreaking experience. In the cold light of day, it all seemed like a dream anyway or perhaps they had imagined it since they missed their boy so much. From what they understood, spirits of the _Isles of the Blest_ were at full liberty to travel between the worlds as they pleased, but it was an ability that took quite some time to develop, and given the Covenant's restrictions and the seriousness of their Harry's condition…it was most unlikely that he would venture out from the place of peace that he had finally found, even if it was to pay them a visit.

Besides, even if it had truly been Harry's spirit, which both could not help but doubt, it had surely come to convey his love, his wishes for them not to grieve for him, and to move on with their lives, and that he would always be watching them from the Hereafter.

Had they themselves not done that when they were dead?

The figure did not appear again, and nothing else strange happened, which served to confirm their conclusions.

Or so they thought.

Life went on, as it inevitably, always did, despite their unbearable loss. The tiny, very tiny ray of hope in the intense darkness came in the form of Sirius and Remus appearing to having taken Cedric's words to heart, and each taking small yet definite steps towards bucking up. Despite the fact that the sorrowful, haunted look that had become a prominent feature in their eyes might never go away, they had taken to grooming and dressing themselves properly, and if the lack of the smell of booze about them was any indication, they had stopped resorting to numbing themselves in the most torturous way. In fact, Lily found herself a new helper with the household chores in the form of Remus, and Sirius became a regular partner to James in his exercise regime, and was actually contemplating getting a job.

Usually, James and Lily would have chuckled and amiably objected to their attempts, but in this scenario, they were gladder than they could express of it. They had disapproved of their friends' self-destructive behaviours, of course, but had been powerless to do much about it, especially since they themselves had been caught up in their own excruciating grief. That they had finally managed to make some baby steps towards the light, faint and remote though it was, was a genuine comfort to them. It was a firm yet gentle reminder to them that, as painful as their boy's death was, life still had to go on, and though it was highly unlikely, they might even learn to smile from their hearts again.

They owed it to their Harry.

But…

Yes, in the life of those special ones who were destined to take an extraordinary role in shaping the very course of the future of all, there was always a "but" that emphasised that any period of peace and normalcy was only temporary.

It all started one cold, wet night, after dinner.

_It has been five weeks after Harry's funeral, for your information, ladies and gentlemen, a time where it seemed that nothing yet anything would happen…_

"What's in the packages?" James asked curiously.

Sirius did not answer. He tugged at the purple and green bows on the packages and tore open to reveal two boxes. His friends felt their eyes widen as he pulled out a magnificent new set of clothes and a beautiful new pair of loafers. "Wow." James breathed. "So this is the order that you sent out last week? I have to say, Sirius, you have outdone yourself this time. They are stupendous!"

"Thanks." Having no false modesty, Sirius could not help but gleam a little at the praise.

"Let me see," Lily gently grabbed the shoes to examine them more closely. "This has to be Italian. Hand-made. Nice shiny blue-black colour. James is right, Sirius. Good choice. Very good choice."

Remus studied the clothes as a teacher would a surprisingly good piece of student's work: a trendy designer leather jacket, a simple white shirt, a blue-striped tie, and a pair of black pants. "Mmmm…leather smells fresh and clean. The quality is pure silk. Colours are striking, yet natural. The cut is just fine. It all demonstrates a true elegance through simplicity. Something that only a real connoisseur of fashion could achieve," he admitted, chuckling a little as his eyes lifted from their study to look at Sirius. "Does this, by any chance, have anything to do with_ Apollo & Adonis, _Sirius?"

James raised a dark winged brow. "_Apollo & Adonis?_ You seriously thinking of working as a model, Sirius?"

Sirius nodded, his smile light, but his silver-grey eyes intense with unmistakable gravity. _I need to make a start. Let's see what modeling thinks of me first. If it does not work out in the end, then I shall find something else, but I definitely need to make a new fresh start. I definitely have to go out into the world again, to see again, to hear again, to feel again, and to find a new meaning in life again. I owe that much to Harry. He would want that for me, as well…_"These lovely babies I bought might just get me the job."

Lily shook her fine copper head. "I never would have believed it. Sirius Black, _the Sirius Black,_ working in the Muggle world as a model."

Sirius shrugged. In the midst of his self-reflection, he had realised that he was tired of his role as a leading member of the Order of the Phoenix, as an unofficial Auror, as a warrior of light and truth. But most of all he was tired of being the Sirius Black that the wizarding world all knew. He wanted to be someone else for a while. And so he had answered a call pinned to the wall of a cafeteria in Little Whinging. After all, modeling was, in a way, about pretending to be someone you were not. It was always easy for everyone to say that nobody was perfect in this world, but how easy was it for everyone to live up to what they had said? The people figured on magazines, on store windows, the sides of vehicles, or in shopping marts were actually just like any other human beings, with virtues that were being honed to be publicly displayed and flaws that were carefully concealed from the rest from the world, but did it stop many, many others from going crazy over their exquisite faces and drool-worthy bodies, and hail them as "pure incarnations of perfection"?

But that was not the entire reason, only half of it.

The other half was that Little Whinging was where Harry had been raised. Sirius, on some unconscious metaphysical level that he did not dare acknowledge, felt that if he were to take a job in the place where his godson had been "forced" to spend his childhood, it would draw him closer to the poor child to whom he did so much wrong.

"The wizarding world is now a place that will only see me through rose-coloured glasses, Lily. And I do not want to work in an environment like that. If I want to make a fresh new start and to work, I want to do so in an environment where I will be accepted and valued for my own merits and contributions. So it is off to the Muggle world to see what it thinks of me."

"I am sure that it will come to have a splendid opinion of you, Sirius," Lily said sincerely, her smile as warm as her bright green eyes. James and Remus exchanged proud grins, successfully suppressing an amused chuckle at the thought of how their devout prankster of a friend who used to go about dazzling everyone he could with his mesmerising silver eyes and hundred-watt smile to get out of trouble was now again going to display his considerable charms to the world at large, only this time it would be done in a mature elegant manner that they had believed almost impossible for him to achieve. "I think you are going to be a fantastic model."

It was then that something struck Remus like a bolt of lightning. "Oops. I almost forgot. James, Lily, Sirius, there is something that I want to show you. Come on."

There was a moment's stunned silence as three pairs of eyes caught the shiny wooden board game on the table.

"I do not believe it," Lily's voice was a mere breadth above a whisper. "My old spirit board. One of my childhood favourites. I had thought it lost forever in the maze that is this palace."

"I found it when I was tidying up the room that was meant for…for…you know," Remus explained quietly, a sad grin on his lips.

For a moment there was silence in the dining room. They had arrived at the topic of Harry. The room that Remus, the Potter Palace's self-appointed house-elf, had been cleaning up to the best of his ability, had been meant for their beloved boy.

But it was a room that no one would ever sleep in now.

It took a considerable effort, but Lily managed to hold back the ever-ready flow of tears. _Harry would not want his Mommy to grieve; Harry would not want his Mommy to grieve, Harry would not want his Mommy to grieve…_the mental mantra went on as Lily touched the antique spirit board gently._ Daddy gave it to me, _she thought in an attempt to steer her mind towards happier, brighter memories. She could not even remember the last time she and her husband and their friends had played with it – it was so long ago.

James, Sirius, Peter (had to be included, since he was their friend once upon a time), and even Remus had laughed when she tried to initiate them into the game that she loved as a child – what was a relatively ordinary Muggle board game compared to the wonderful devices and fascinating tricks-or-treats of the consistently evolving wizarding world? But it did not take long for them to develop a fondness for the old spirit board that was said to have been in Lily's family for not only generations, but centuries.

It was made of a special wood whose scent was like a blend of cedar, sandalwood, and smoke from a warm hearth, covered with letters, numbers, and symbols, and came with a pointer of pure jet to spell out words. Lily and the four Marauders would lightly place their fingers on the pointer. The pointer was supposed to move by itself, guided by the spirits of the other side, to spell out important messages and answer their questions.

_James always used to ask how many children and grandchildren we were going to have, _Lily remembered, almost smiling. _Sirius used to ask silly questions like, "What are we having for lunch today?" or "How many windows has my shrew of a mother shattered with her Banshee-shaming fits?" For Remus, it was simultaneously polite yet playful queries as to when James and Sirius would stop hatching naughty schemes and pranking people for the fun of it. Wormtail's were constant variations of "How can I strike rich?" or "How will all this dreadful fighting end?" _

_And I would always ask if my loved ones and I would get to live a long, happy, __uneventful__ life together, _Lily thought. _I never did get a straight answer. Then again, it was a stupid question anyway. No spirit, even if it had been listening, would demean itself by giving an answer to an inquiry like that. A witch like me, who has put herself up right on the font of battle, is never meant for __an uneventful life__._

She picked up the spirit board and flipped it over…and the colour drained from her beautiful face, making her husband and their friends stare at her in concern.

"What is wrong, love?" James asked.

"Harry's handwriting."

As the three men exchanged stunned, confused glances and quickly rushed to stand around her to see for themselves, Lily read aloud the unmistakable writing on the back, _"Evil is a faithful foe that always returns when it is least expected. But the good of the pure love shared between family and friends always serves to hold the evil back. This is to my loved ones. May this grant you the key to solve the Mysteries and the Puzzles. The Mysteries and the Puzzles will help all of you to stem the dark tides from overwhelming our beloved homes. Mommy, please remember that, when the time comes, the key to the treachery's destruction lies within the key's end itself. Daddy, Uncle Paddy, Uncle Moony, please always remember: The Power of Three will set you free. My friends, please always keep in mind: By the Power of Seven shall all odds be even. Love, Harry."_

Confusion in its sheerest form was depicted on every face when Lily was done.

"I am sorry, Lily, but I think I must have heard you wrongly. Come again, please?" Sirius requested, his brows furrowed.

"Yes, Lily, please do." Remus agreed with his surrogate brother, his brown eyes very wide with astonishment and wonder.

Lily took a deep steadying breath, cleared her throat and, in the clearest, truest voice she could muster, obliged them.

It was Sirius who voiced the question that everyone was now wondering. "Okay, what was that?"

Remus frowned, deep in thought as he contemplated the possibilities. James and Lily exchanged a glance, only to see each other's confusion reflected as clearly as a mirror would. _Indeed. What was that all about? _If there was one thing they had learnt about their Harry, it was that he _never_ wrote nonsense, not even if when he was doing work that he utterly disliked. Yes, he could have a fine sense of humour at times, and he could laugh and play and joke along with all his friends, but he was perfectly serious when it came to significant stuff that should not be taken lightly. Besides, there was just something about this…something that seemed to stir up an indefinable yet evident sensation within them…something that made them think that this previously hidden message of Harry's was of utmost importance of them…

"Wait a minute, a bell's sort of ringing here," James said suddenly, as an invisible hand in his mind flipped the yellowed pages of the book of his most distant memories, making blurry images and vague voices pop up. "I remembered someone telling me about The Power of Three once…maybe it had been Dad…"

"So what's the story, sweetheart?" Lily asked.

James bit his lip and pressed his fingers to his temples as he thought hard. After a while, he gave up, sighing. "I am sorry, love, everyone. I just cannot remember. I mean, I know that I have heard about it before, that's for sure, but I just cannot recall in detail. It is, oh, I don't know, really…like…like…you know it's there and you can even see it, but every time you try your best to get a closer look, it disappears."

"Then maybe we should send the board to Dumbledore," Sirius said with a bitter, sarcastic laugh. "I hate to admit it, but the old goat knows practically everything there is to know about the wizarding world. Maybe he could help you to jog your memory, James. Or maybe he could help us figure out what did Harry mean. You never know…"

"And let him start another one of his twisted, vile games, moving us about like pieces on a chessboard, all in the name of the Greater Good?" Lily hissed, her face now white with sudden rage, her eyes as sharp and piercing as those of a cat ready to strike. She clutched the wooden board very tightly to her chest with her arms, as if afraid that it would be snatched away from her any moment. "_Never._ You hear? _Never ever! _I would rather die a million deaths than let _my father's_ legacy fall into the hands of that monster, especially when it has become all the more precious with _my son's _message to us. I am shocked and disgusted that you would even think of letting that old monster know of this, Sirius. How could you?"

"Lily, first word: calm, second word: down," James said quickly. "Sirius was just being sar-" he fell silent when Lily speared him with her steely, fiery green gaze.

"Lily, you know what Sirius is like, he is just –" Remus' voice died away as he, too, surrendered to the determinedly unyielding fire of those emerald-shaming orbs.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts was, after all, now an irrevocably complex, agonisingly painful subject, one that was only mentioned in the Potter household at one's own risk. The occasional blunder was excusable, but deliberate application was nothing short of blasphemy at its very worst – at least, to Lily Evans Potter, who had adamantly turned down all of Albus Dumbledore's attempts to apologise, to make amends, and to bridge the inestimable gap that he had created between them.

There was a moment's uncomfortable silence before Sirius broke it with something wholly unexpected: a sincere apology.

"I am sorry, Lily. I did not really mean it. Honestly, I did not. I was just being sarcastic, that's all, I swear. I –"

"I know," Lily interrupted him, sighing a soft sad sigh that reflected a weariness that she must have felt, somewhere, deep down. "I am sorry for overreacting, Sirius. I know that you were just only being sarcastic, that you did not really mean it. But some people bring out the worst in me because of what have done to me. To us."

"I understand. I will never speak of him again. I will always watch what I say now. I promise."

* * *

Author's Note:

Hello, everyone. So sorry for having not updated in such a long, long time. Thank the Gods that my muses have decided to be kind today and enabled me to produce this new piece. Again, so sorry if it is not satisfactory, but this is really as far as I can go for now. As always, please kindly have a look and tell me honestly what you all think. And remember: I am always open to reviews and suggestions. They keep me going! Thanks! Until next time...


End file.
